Page 44 of Nobody's Girl

Part Three

Chapter Twenty

In the end, it was Desiree who told Fergus Rutland. After failing to find out where Sofia had gone, Fergus went to the apartment his private detective had told him Sofia was staying at.

Desiree opened the door, wrapped in a silk robe and glared at him. “What do you want, Rutland?”

Fergus bit back a retort. This woman, gorgeous and statuesque was still intimidating to him, but he could not be rude to her. She had helped save Sofia’s life, after all.

“Please, I’ve just come here to see my daughter.”

Desi didn’t smile. “She’s not here.”

“Would you tell me if she was?”

“I don’t lie, Mr. Rutland.”

“Forgive me. Will she be back today?”

Desiree have him a half-smile. “I doubt it. She’s on her honeymoon.”

Fergus rocked back for second, and then sighed. He had never intended to follow through on his threat to have her deported, fancying he could persuade her to come home with him. But still…married? “I see.”

Desiree was obviously enjoying his discomfort. “What’s the matter, Rutland? Surprised she made a decision without you? That girl lived on the streets for six months – you think she didn’t grow the hell up during that period? You don’t get to call the shots in Sofia’s life anymore.”

Fergus felt nothing but defeat. He dropped his head into his hands. “Christ. I fucked up, I know that.”

There was a silence then Desiree, sighing, opened her door. “Come in. You look like you could use a drink.”

Down the hallway, through a crack in his door, Grant listened, his rage a burning thing inside him. Sofia was married? To the Zacca asshole? Fucking whore. He waited until Desiree had closed her door then stepped out of his apartment, taking the stairs up to the roof. Once there, he let out a howl of anger, bellowing it out over the rooftops. It was lost in the breeze, the spitting rain. She was married. The moment you said I do, you signed your own death warrant, Sofia. Grant smiled grimly. No, wait, you were always going to die, it’s just now…it’ll be sooner than I’d planned. You won’t get to celebrate your first anniversary, beautiful.

Chapter Twenty-One

Tamara had expected Penn not to call for a few days – after all, he must be grieving for his girlfriend and child, she grinned to herself. The report of the accident wasn’t headline news, but buried inside the local pages. Pregnant Mother Falls to Her Death in Freak Accident. And now Tamara knew his girlfriend’s name. Willa. Willa Kline and her unborn child were dead. Penn Black would be in a state of grief, but Tamara knew she had to be patient. Any move to preempt his contacting her might make him suspicious. As far as he knew, Tamara didn’t even know where he lived, let alone that he had a wife. No, she would wait for him to call.

In the meantime, she concentrated on her business venture. The club, now renamed Le Petite Mort, the French euphemism for an orgasm, was already garnering attention from the BDSM community. Tamara didn’t care that her more adventurous acquaintances knew she was the owner; she reveled in the notoriety of it. She also didn’t care that she had spent all of her father’s investment on the hidden murder rooms in the basement. They were so well hidden that she and Grant could enjoy their torturous games without fear of discovery.

She decided to call him now, as she observed the designer putting the final touches to the club’s main room. Alcoves with purple velvet curtains for privacy, day beds which could fit two or three or more in each, flattering lighting, an endless array of toys and lube. The kinkier stuff could be found in the private rooms in the maze of corridors leading through the club. Exposed brickwork, old fashioned light fittings – it really was a palace of kink.

“Long time, no hear,” Grant said, his voice amused.

“I miss you,” Tamara purred, “Our club is looking magnificent. You should put your little campaign on hold and come see it.”

“You know what? I might just do that. Things are…quiet, here at the moment.”

“How is my darling ex-step-sister? Still breathing?” Tamara gave a grim smile. In her mind, Willa Black and Sofia were almost the same person – an annoying bug to be smashed against a windshield.

“For now.” Grant’s voice took on an edge she couldn’t identify.